My abs and I are in a fight.
Three days ago, I challenged myself to do 100 sit-ups every day for 100 days. That’s nothing, I thought. Totally manageable! And by wedding (and honeymoon) time, I’ll be a ‘hottie with a body’ (or at least some sign of abs). I decided to use my physio-ball, crossed my arms ‘I Dream of Jeannie’ style, and started counting. A few minutes later, I was done!
Day Two. I woke up (to this) and sat up. Oh. Hello. I guess my adrenaline-fueled motivation on the first day masked the actual weakness of my abdominal muscles. That’s good! I told myself. The pain means it’s working! If I keep it up, it will get easier! Cue small grimace; commence counting.
Today, I was sore all morning. One of my oldest childhood friends is vacationing in Park City, and we had a great lunch, just catching up.
I laughed at something and had to clutch my tummy, which suddenly felt like I was being stabbed. Uh oh. This did not bode well for Day Three. Determined, I got home, sat on the ball, and braced myself. My face during the first 15 was probably similar to my scrunched-up ‘tough girl’ face from the target-shooting adventure. The 4 minutes it took to struggle through 100 sit-ups felt like 30. I tried to think of things to distract myself from this self-imposed discomfort. Some of my desperate and random thoughts:
I think I hear the sketchy pseudo-ice-cream-man going by again…any parent that lets their kids near that windowless van is just asking for an America’s Most Wanted situation…(Consider halting sit-ups to take photo of license plate.)
This can’t be right– should three days of sit-ups hurt this much? I hope I’m doing it right…What number is this? (63, 64, 65…)
I love my growing little succulent family. Why are tiny plants so cute? I should get more. Where will I put them all? (Glance around bedroom.)
Why isn’t this getting easier? I thought Day Two after a work-out was the painful one… honeymoon bikini, honeymoon bikini…(Scrunched-up ‘tough girl’ face.)
I’m totally having a glass of wine right after this. (Mouth waters.)
Is that spider directly above me on the ceiling poisonous? (Fixate. Crunch faster.)
When I finished my 100, I patted myself on the back. I know tomorrow
might will hurt- again. But I’m sticking with it. My bikini (and my new husband) will thank me for it.
Only, um, 97 days to go. (Sigh.)